Apothesis of the Dwemer
by Pollardinator
Summary: The ancient Dwemer of Tamriel have been lost for centuries, wiped from existence after a failed attempt to create a power to rival the gods themselves. And yet, thousands of years later, the Dragonborn ,hero of Skyrim, faces the dramatic and bloody return of this most intelligent and evil of races as they seek to enslave Tamriel and regain the divine power they were so close to...
1. Chapter 1- The Battle of Red Mountain

Fire rained down from the heavens as the Chimer and Dwemer forces battled on the slopes of Red Mountain, lines of golden armoured Dwemer soldiers and whole legions of Centurion automatons fought against the massed ranks of Chimer warriors, spells and hails of arrows cutting though the red ash in the smoky air.

As the screams and clash of blades reached his ears from his lofty position on a rocky outcrop overlooking the battle, Nervevar, leader of the Chimer, narrowed his eyes, his proud face set in an expression of pure anger. The Dwemer, once thought to be their allies, sought to rival the powers of the gods themselves, and Nervevar had heard from the mouth of the goddess Azura herself of how the prideful Dwemer were attempting to achieve godhood for themselves. And now, as the slopes of Red Mountain were bathed in crimson and the corpses of countless slain warriors, he took a deep breath, looking around him where his advisors, Vivec, Sotha Sil and his wife, Almalexia, sat atop their mounts, and drew his sword.

"We are ready to storm the mountain." Said Dagoth, his right hand, his armoured form not concealing the slight smile crossing his youthful features.

Nervevar nodded as his sword, Trueflame, burst into a rippling red fire, and he turned to his advisors.

"Keep the Dwemer forces occupied as long as you can. This is between me and King Dumac."

And with that he clattered down the rocky hill, Dagoth and his ten strong bodyguard at his back, passing countless groups of Chimer warriors letting forth hails of arrows into the battle beyond, many of them shouting out oaths of fealty and encouragements as Nervevar passed and raised his sword to the sky as the golden forms of the main Dwemer battle line reared up ahead, the impassive forms of their formidable Centurions looming high above the shield wall. Glancing to his sides to see the might of the Chimer cavalry at his back, Nervevar raised Trueflame to the heavens.

"For Azura!" He roared, and the cry was taken up by every Chimer within earshot, and he galloped straight towards the Dwemer lines, deflecting arrows and spells with his shield as he and the cavalry slammed into the dwarven soldiers, cutting a bloody swathe through them, Trueflame melting their armour and splitting their skulls, whilst Nerevar's bodyguard, their longswords flashing in the sun, covered every side, taking down the elite dwarven legionaries with ease.

"Behold the power of the Dwemer!" Dagoth said with a sarcastic laugh as he galloped alongside Nerevar, firing his towering bow of ebony and horn, expertly putting the black fletched arrows through the eye slits and neck joints of the Dwemer armour.

"Keep your guard up!" Nerevar ordered as he dodged a thrown spear which instead impaled a nearby Chimer cavalryman, before trampling the spear thrower under his horses steel shod hooves.

As he said this the Dwemer line up ahead began to move back as a pall of steam issued out over their lines, and a distinctive clanking of metal echoed out and the ground shook as shadowy figures, ten foot tall, were just visible in the steam.

"Centurions!" bellowed a nearby soldier, seconds before a flight of Dwemer arrows took him in the chest and he fell screaming from his horse.

Nerevar powered onwards as the brass and gold forms of the Centurions appeared, their hammers and steam breath cutting through the Chimer lines.

And yet the Centurions were still advancing.

Flights of arrows broke off their armour, whilst the spells thrown at them by the cloaked Chimer battle mages were deflected off onto their own forces, Chimer foot soldiers dying in agony as flames and lightning crossed their bodies.

Nerevar brought his horse around the armoured sides of one of the lead Centurions as it was distracted by a horde of Chimer spearmen, their ebony spear tips snapping on the creature's thick armour. Again and again he struck it in the traditional weak spots, the neck, joints and under the arms, and yet the brass titan still cleaved through his forces, ignoring his puny attacks.

Until, with a whoosh of steam and a clank of gears, it turned to face him, its golden face impassive as it raised its tree trunk sized arms, sweeping aside two of his bodyguard, the two Chimer and their horses turned to splashes of blood and shreds of flesh with one stroke.

As it advanced Dagoth poured arrows into it, but the projectiles merely stuck into the golden armour or rebounded and clattered to the baked earth. Nerevar held his shield close to him, ready to try and deflect the scalding hot steam he knew the golden automatons were so deadly with.

Suddenly there was a crackle of lightning from the left which struck the Centurion full on, throwing it on to its side, its armoured form wreathed in blue sparks as Hamus, commander of Nerevar's bodyguard, appeared from over a mound of dead Chimer warriors, the lightning still crackling around his left hand, his right arm hanging useless at his side whilst his armour and cloak were caked in blood and dust.

"Keep going sir!" he said with a grim smile. "We'll hold them."

Then he was running, gathering more lightning in his palm as the Centurion he had struck down began to pick itself up, and behind it more of the golden automatons could be seen as the smoke began to clear, along with countless Dwemer soldiers all charging forward.

"We have to stop this!" Nerevar said simply as he and Dagoth clattered up the hill, Chimer and Dwemer warriors battling on all sides as a towering stone and gold archway loomed up ahead, cut in to the side of the mountain, its guardians battling with a host of Chimer battle mages.

Dagoth only nodded as he strung his bow once more, ready to face whatever lay within. Leaping from their horses as they came to the entrance, they easily cut through the embattled Dwemer soldiers desperately trying to protect the gates, the mages forming a defensive ring around the gateway as the two Chimer ran alone into the Dwemer stronghold.

The tunnel that stretched before them was quiet except for the constant clatter of machinery that all Dwemer structures echoed with, and Nerevar felt a slight prickle of fear across every part of him as he and Dagoth plunged further in, past the scuttling forms of mechanical spiders that clicked and whirred in the shadows, unwilling or unable to do anything to stop the two intruders.

"Where are the guards?" Dagoth whispered, having shouldered his bow and drawn his sword, the long ebony blade catching the unearthly light issuing from the strange mechanical lanterns in the carved stone around them.

"There must be further in." Nerevar said calmly, not wanting to let the rising sense of unease that he felt in this place unnerve his companion. "And Dumac of course." Even though he had once considered the dwarven king his friend and ally, Nerevar was ready to plunge his sword into the fool's chest for this affront to the gods. He had always thought the Demur's dismissal of the obvious power of the Daedra rash and stupid, but only now, as the tunnel around him echoed with the whines and hisses of their race's bizarre machinery, did he realise how mad and evil they truly were.

Suddenly, as they were about to turn a corner, he heard a slight clatter of loose stone up ahead, and the heavy crunch of armoured feet.

Putting out a hand to stop Dagoth, Nerevar drew his dagger, a Dwemer blade ironically gifted to him by Dumac after the alliance against the Nords had been formed, and slowly edged forwards, his feet making no sound as he moved to the corner and, in one decisive movement leapt out and slashed at the assailant, intending to cut their throat, but a blast of steam blinded him momentarily and he couldn't see, but still felt the dagger cutting in to flesh, and then fell upon the attacker, pushing them roughly to the ground and, as the steam cleared, raised his blade to strike.

But as the steam cleared he withdrew his blade, as he saw the figure before him was no threat, unarmed and clearly not a warrior. The Dwemer woman's armour was ill fitting and obviously not her own, lacking the slightly more shapely curves of female Dwemer armour, whilst the weapon in her hand, a small knife, clattered to the stone floor as she put a hand to the jagged scar across her left cheek, blood pumping freely out across her pale hands and in to the long curled black locks of her hair.

"You won't stop our ascension!" she spat, but Nerevar simply stood up and walked away, her insults and jeers ringing in his ears as he waved Dagoth away and the two men ran on down the corridor.

"You cannot stop the apotheosis of the Dwemer!" she screeched as they turned the corner and disappeared from her view in to the steam.

They passed under an ornate gold plated stone archway, through a pall of steam and smoke, and, for a second, Nerevar felt a sense of equal parts fear and awe as he saw what lay ahead.

The room was huge, carved out of the side of the volcano itself, as the bubbling of lava far below attested to, huge golden piping stretching across the chiselled stone, whilst the thin stone walkway they stood on stretched far out over a shadowy abyss falling away on all sides. But it was the monstrous figure which stood in the centre of the vast chamber which caused him the most shock.

"The Numidium…" Dagoth said with an obvious sense of reverence as they stepped closer, marvelling at the huge golden being, armoured in a similar fashion to the Dwemer themselves, but hundreds of metres tall, its head almost lost in the shadows above as hot ash and steam burst up from all sides.

Then Nerevar heard a clattering of armour and weapons being drawn, and turned to see a group of Dwemer warriors advancing upon them, armed with heavy battle-axes and maces. And at the centre of them, his helmet off to reveal his flowing black hair and impressive beard filled with golden rings and medallions, stood Dumac, King of the Dwemer, and behind him the robed form of Kagrenac, the Dwemer High Priest.

"Stop this madness Dumac!" Nerevar pleaded, but, although he saw sorrow and regret in the old king's eyes, the Dwemer drew his shimmering great sword from his back and stepped forward.

"We can't stop now, even if we wanted to…" he said simply. "The Heart of Lorkhan, the scorned god, was thrown to the mortal realm millennia ago for this exact purpose, to turn our race from mere mortal creatures into gods! I cannot let you stop my race's apotheosis."

Nerevar sighed deeply, looking the king in the eyes one last time before, with a savage warcry,he leapt forward, swinging his sword around, the king only just leaping back as the Chimer cut through the bodyguard, knocking aside their axes and maces as he drove his blade through each one on turn. He barely felt anything anymore except anger. Anger at the Dwemer for their arrogance. Anger at Dumac for his betrayal of their friendship. And most of all, anger at himself for not stopping this mad scheme before it got too far gone for them to walk away from alive.

He barely noticed his blade as it cleaved through the Dwemer warriors, didn't see the fear through their eye slits as he and Dagoth laid waste to them. He only allowed his vision to clear of the red haze of rage that had settled over it when it was only him and Dumac, standing across from each other, Dagoth standing to one side, knowing this fight Nerevar had to fight alone.

"For the Dwemer!" Dumac roared as he swung his blade, Nerevar only just leaping to one side to dodge the weapons broad swing, before bringing his shield up, knocking the Dwemer back whilst slashing for his sides. Only the king's thick armour stopped him from being cut in two, but he was quick to counter, swinging the greatsword above his head and down in an attempt to slash down the Chimer from his neck to his legs.

"The power of the gods is within our grasp." Dumac shouted, and, even as he rolled to one side to dodge the swing of the king's greatsword, he could sense the regret behind the Dwemer's words, the feeling that the king did not truly believe in what he was fighting for.

But then the king ran at him and, with a clash of metal, their swords slammed against one another, so close they could read the runes carved into each other's blades. With a shout Nerevar brought his shield around, slamming it in to the Dwemer's side and knocking him back. For a second the king stumbled back, then collapsed over the bloody corpse of one of his bodyguard's and fell into a heap on the cold stone, his greatsword clattering away and over the edge.

He reached for the shortsword at his waist, but already Trueflame was pressed up against his neck, the heat burning the skin around his throat.

Nerevar looked down at his defeated enemy, not with rage, but with pity. This man was not fighting for his race's chance to become gods. He was only fighting for his duty.

"The Heart is ready" he heard Kagrenac screech with unbridled glee.

As Kagrenac laughed from nearby, Nerevar looked at Dumac once more and saw the king close his eyes, a single tear tracing down his cheek.

"I…am sorry." He said softly, then there was a blinding flash of blue light and the king was gone. But not just him, Nerevar noticed. The bodies of the slain bodyguard were gone, leaving nothing behind but a few scraps of armour and scattered weapons, as was Kagrenac, the only items to mark the High Priest's disappearance being a small dagger, hammer and an ornate golden gauntlet.

He saw Dagoth nearby looking on wide eyed, then he turned to see Vivec, Sotha Sil and Almalexia, at their back a score of Chimer warriors, all wounded.

"They've gone!" Almalexia cried, and, as Nerevar and Dagoth looked on in confusion, she continued. "The Dwemer are all gone. Nothing but swords and armour left. The Centurions, Spheres, all their abomination machines, they've all collapsed or fallen apart!"

As the others cheered and celebrated Nerevar looked down at the floor where Dumac had been lying, nothing but a few of his rings that had been knocked off in the fight remaining to show the king had ever existed before saying simply.

"What have you fools done."


	2. Chapter 2- War Never Changes

Thousands of years later and, although the Dwemer and Chimer were long gone, one disappeared from existence, the other cursed by Azura for their leader's attempts to become gods themselves and transformed into the Dunmer, or Dark Elves, battle had once again come to Red Mountain.

But now it was a very different war, between the Empire of Men and the High Elf Aldmeri Dominion. After the First War between the two races, there had been a period of uneasy peace, until the crushing of the Nordic Stormcloak rebellion by the Imperial Legions, aided by the mysterious figure known as the Dragonborn, and the unexpected assault upon the Empire by the Thalmor rulers of the Dominion, upon learning of the power their new ally possessed.

Now, deep within a luxurious tent within the 8th Imperial Legion's main camp high up on the slopes of the volcano, the Dragonborn was casually catching a nap, seeming to care little that a High Elf army was even now marching upon the Imperial position.

That is until a gauntleted hand slapped him across his thin face. His handsome features and deep brown hair, a look common to natives of the Imperial province of Cyroddil, marked by a slight reddening as he awoke, finding himself staring into the pale face of Serana, former vampire, long-time companion and ,after almost a year of rejected proposals, ending with a successful one after a particularly hard fight against a pack of Frost Trolls led them to finding more than just warmth with one another in a small cave and a packed ceremony the week after in Riften- very much put-upon wife. However at the moment her long brown hair, elegantly styled, as always, framed a face set in a frown, her eyes almost glowing with frustration despite the fact she had been cured of her vampirism for months now.

"How can you sleep at a time like this Lucius?!" she demanded, manhandling him from beneath the collection of bear pelts and troll furs that formed their bed, to find him already fully dressed in his distinctive Dragon bone armour, an exact copy of the set she wore. Although, as he constantly reminded her, his armour was made from the bones of the mortal form of Alduin the World Eater, brought back from the heavenly Sovngarde,whilist her armour had been made from the bones of a dragon he had 'just happened to come across' whilst travelling to Markarth at night.

"Do you ever take that armour off?" she said with a raised eyebrow, her anger now changed to a slight sense of annoyance as he casually went over to the weapons rack on the wall, filled with all manner of weapons, from the first iron dagger he had forged in Riverwood after the destruction of Helgen, all the way to the Daedric artefacts and Skyforge steel blades that Lucius had acquired during his travels and his journey to becoming the Dragonborn.

"Only when you ask me nicely…" he replied with a flirtatious grin as he selected the Dawnbreaker, the glowing golden sword of the champion of Meridia, and the Spellbreaker, the strange Dwemer shield he and his housecarl Lydia had spent the best part of a month in a dwarven ruin trying to find, and tossed them across to his wife, who was trying not to grin at his almost ridiculously upbeat attitude to everything as he selected the glittering black curved forms of the Dragonbane and Bolor's Oathblade swords, both priceless relics of the military order of the Blades, Lucius personal bodyguard, as befitted the Dragonborn. Added to that he belted the ominous form of the Ebony Blade, a Daedric weapon he still bore, despite its evil origins, onto his back, red lettering flashing briefly on its black sheath.

Sliding the two dragon scale scabbards of the swords into his belt, Lucius then selected his favourite helmet, a formidable construction of ebony and dragon bone, from the armour rack to his left, grinning innocently at Serana as he slipped the heavy helmet over his head.

"If the Thalmor could only wait another hour or so before they start the battle I would be a lot happier…" he said with mock annoyance. "I was having the most wonderful dream."

"I don't want to know." Serena said with a laugh as she put on her own helmet. "I found the copies of the Lusty Argonian Maid underneath your bed yesterday whilst you were training with Legate Rikke outside."

Lucius's eyes widened.

"As if! Lydia and Hadvar must have…I don't know, sneaked in while we were out and left it here…."

And yet there was no more time for idle banter as they stepped out into the main area of the tent where the large map table was surrounded by a host of Imperial officers, at the opposite end General Tullius standing flanked by Legate Rikke and Delphine, Grandmaster of the Blades, all fully armoured and ready for battle.

"Ah Dragonborn. Took your time? "Tullius said with a slightly raised eyebrow, but Lucius knew the old soldier meant no offence. The two had a great respect for each other, if it seemed they hated each other at times.

"What's the situation out there?" Serena asked quickly, obviously trying to spare Lucius any embarrassment.

"The Dominion forces are still far enough away that we won't have to worry about them for at least a while…" Legate Rikke said simply, pointing at a collection of green flags on the map table, still some distant from the red flags of the Imperial lines. "However their scouting forces and some five hundred skirmishers, mostly Bosmer conscripts and Khajiit mercenaries, have advanced through our outer defence lines and are currently engaged with Legate Orsius' battalion of Orcish heavy infantry. Captain Hadvar stands ready to bring his own force around by this ridge here to flank the enemy units, but he doesn't know if he has the manpower to force them to retreat. We need them driven away before they can threaten our flanks"

"So you want me to lead an attack alongside Hadvar's men?" Lucius asked, his expression and voice deadly serious now that his comrades, and his old friend Hadvar, were about to perform such a risky manoeuvre.

"Only as far as this forest here, the Green Oasis, as the local Dunmer call it." Rikke replied, pointing at a crudely drawn collection of trees on the map. "These enemy soldiers are Khajiit and Bosmer. I trust you know of their…volatile, history. If you were to lead a group of fighters straight in to the heart of them, we may be able to break their morale enough that they either turn upon each other or the whole unit splits into two, one Khajiit and one of Wood Elves, which will be much easier to deal with before the main Thalmor force arrives."

Lucius nodded and, seeing a few encouraging nods from the assembled officers, turned to General Tullius before he said in a firm tone.

"Let's do this."

000000

As Lucius and his bodyguard of twenty Blades, amongst their number many of his former companions and long-time friends, including the burly form of Mjoll the Lioness and the young Nord Agmaer, on loan from the Dawnguard vampire hunters, currently checking over his crossbow as the small company of warriors dismounted their horses and looked out over the plain beyond.

A vast column of dust beyond the fast flowing River Ur was the only sign of the main Thalmor force, whilst the ridge they stood on stretched down to the baked earth beyond, where Hadvar's small unit of fifty Imperial soldiers formed a shieldwall, ready for whatever came at them, the forest around a mile away from them, leaving a large plain of dark earth. Behind Lucius and the others the ridge clambered up further, groups of Imperial archers with longbows and crossbows standing ready to pour fire upon the enemy.

For a second Lucius paused, looking around at the Blades around him, all standing in their elaborate heavy armour, acknowledging his warm smile with slight bows or nods.

Then he heard Agmaer shouting from where he sat crouched at the edge of the ridge, crossbow in hand.

"Sir, there's figures running towards Captain Hadvar's men!"

Instantly Lucius ran to the edge of the ridge and stared down.

As he watched in horror, a host of dark shapes ran out from the thick undergrowth of the Green Oasis forest, straight towards the Imperial soldiers.

In a flash Agmaer and five other Blades had drawn their crossbows and were ready to fire. When they came in range.

"No." Lucius ordered simply as he looked closer, his eyesight much better than the others due to his dragon blood, and the soldiers lowered their weapons. "Those are our boys."

But, as he watched the ragged remnants of Legate Orsius' troops rush across the hard ground towards Hadvar's men, he noticed how few there were of the hundred strong regiment he had seen only the day before leaving camp. The Legate and his men were the toughest Orcs he had ever fought alongside, and yet here they were running as if Alduin himself were chasing them. Something wasn't right.

Then the dozen strong remains of Orsius' men all collapsed simultaneously, glittering glass arrows in their backs.

"Take aim!" Lucius roared at his men, but already it was too late, as a group of black cloaked Thalmor on horseback burst out of the forest line, already stringing new arrows to their deadly bows of glass and moonstone.

"Shit… Those aren't skirmishers" he cursed and drew his swords.

"Blades! With me!" he roared, and no sooner had the words left his lips than he heard the clatter of twenty swords leaving their sheaths, and then, allowing himself a second to smile with satisfaction at his men, he ran down the hill.

"For the Emperor! For the Dovhakin!" came the shouts from both sides as Lucius ran down the ridge, dislodging loose stones and pebbles under his armoured feet, watching the Thalmor soldiers break on Hadvar's shield wall. But the cavalry were quick to retreat, as lines of Thalmor soldiers in black cloaks and hard glass armour, bearing the distinctive red eye emblem of Justicar Ondolemar, elite soldiers of the Dominion carrying lethal looking swords and axes, in amongst their numbers a few battered looking Bosmer and Khajiit.

But Lucius and his troops didn't so much as flinch as more Thalmor began rushing across the dusty plain towards them, flights of arrows flying overhead from the Imperial lines, and the resounding roar of countless Imperial troops echoed across the slopes of Red Mountain as the Legion lumbered in to battle.

The Blades slammed in to the front ranks of the Thalmor, cutting down the elite Mer as if they were undisciplined bandits not trained soldiers. Their ebony blades rose and fell as one, slashing through their fragile glass armours and painting the baked earth with elven blood.

But it was Lucius that cut the greatest swathe, as he brought the full power of the Dragonborn to bear upon the elves, his twin blades hacking and slashing their way through all challengers, splintering whole groups of the Thalmor with devastating shouts of power and his deadly swordsmanship.

Hacking through three screaming Thalmor, knocking aside their greatswords before slashing them across the chest with a lethal double bladed strike, he ran on, whirling his blades around himself, any that stood against him cut down or turned to ash by his Fire Breath.

"Dovhakin! Dovhakin!" came the resounding roar as, on both sides, lines of red armoured shapes and proud banners announced the arrival of the Imperial reinforcements, their tight shield formations and disciplined ranks clashing with the High Elves now pouring out in waves from the forest and the clouds of dust that had obviously been magically conjured to the east to hide their army's rapid movements.

But, as Lucius cut down a proud looking Thalmor officer bearing an ornate glass battle-axe, he saw that the High Elf lines were breaking, rushing back towards the dust cloud to the left of the forest.

"Take it to them!" He roared, sheathing his twin blades as he slowly brought the Ebony Blade from his back, balancing it in both hands as he looked left and right at the formidable steel shields and grim faces of the Imperial Legion, then, the shouts of the army behind spurring him on, rushing forward, the clatter of weapons the only sound he needed to hear to know he did not run alone.

Out of the dust clouds stepped another rank of Thalmor troops, hastily setting up their own wall of shields and wicked spears and, for a second, Lucius felt a slight sense of pleasure at seeing their terrified expressions as he pounded forward.

But then he noticed one of the officers, atop a horse armoured in glittering glass and moonstone, suddenly tumble from the saddle, his eyes rolling up in to the back of his head. He kept running, but already he could see a few others drop, their weapons clattering to the floor.

"Cowardly bastards!" he heard one of his Blades laugh, but then, he watched with a sense of horror as the entire Thalmor battle line suddenly collapsed silently, except for the slam of their armoured forms hitting the baked earth.

There were mere seconds left until the first of the Imperial troops hit the eerily empty Thalmor battle line, and Lucius gripped his blade tighter, ready to discover whatever foul sorcery had bewitched the Thalmor. If it could wipe out a whole army that quick, what would happen when the Imperials reached that dust cloud?

He leapt over the first of the Thalmor bodies, the high Elf motionless, his face set in an expression of pure pain and agony and leapt in to the dust cloud, just as the swirling particles of ash and dirt began to clear, the Thalmor mages evidently dead themselves for the enchantment to end so quickly. And, as Lucius looked out over the open plain that was revealed, he felt a sense of horror.

Beyond was literally a carpet of Thalmor corpses, all laid out in neat rows stretching of into the distance, dead where they had stood, countless scattered weapons and shields catching the blazing sunlight streaming down overhead.

Then there was a shimmering in the air only a hundred metres from the stalled Imperial line, as the soldiers had found the grisly discovery and had stalled, and Lucius peered closer.

"What foul sorcery is this?" Mjoll said, her voice choked up with fear, keeping her sword in an iron hard grip.

Then there was a flash of blinding blue light, sending many of the soldiers around them to their knees, and Lucius watched with a sense of equal parts awe and terror as a host of golden shapes began to appear out of the shimmering blue light and swirling dust, their armoured forms seeming to slowly meld in to reality from formless blobs of gold.

"Stand fast!" he heard Captain Hadvar holler, but he could sense the Imperial soldiers on all sides wavering as the golden figures began to advance, and he finally recognised them, feeling a chill go down his spine as he whispered to himself.

"Dwemer…"

Then there was no time to speak, as the sky was suddenly filled with golden arrows falling into the Imperial lines, and the thunk of metal on wood was drowned out by the screams of dying soldiers.

"Dovhakin!" came a voice from nearby, and then Hadvar was at Lucius' side, a sturdy wood and steel shield held above both of them as the whistling of arrows and shouts of men echoed from all around.

"What are these things?" the captain demanded, wincing as his shield arm began to waver from the weight of the strange arrows slamming into it.

"Bad news…" Lucius replied simply, trying not to watch as soldiers were scythed down on all sides.

"What do we do?!"

Lucius stepped out from under the cover of the shield, feeling the arrows slice down dangerously close to him, and shouted out.

"Lok vah koor!" he roared, the ancient words of the Thu'um, intended to clear the skies of weather effects, having a similar effect upon the Dwemer's attack ,the arrows sailing towards the Imperial lines clattering harmlessly to the ground.

"Surprised that worked.." he mused, but was snapped out of it when he saw the Dwemer forces advancing, their shields reflecting the sun as the light danced across their bronze and gold armour, an unbroken line of impassive faces holding their blades high.

"Men of the Empire!" he heard someone shouting and, turning to his right, saw General Tullius standing proud alongside his elite 'Firstborn' heavy cavalry further down the line, atop an armoured stallion, rallying the soldiers already turning to run. "Whoever these beings are, they will not stop unless we meet them with pure Imperial steel. Take it to them!"

And with that the Imperial army, with one deafening battle cry, rushed towards the Dwemer lines, Lucius running to stay at the front, determined to sweep aside these new enemies with the power of the Thu'um.

The Imperial army broke upon the Dwemer lines like water on rock, slamming into the golden shields and being pushed back under a wall of unnaturally sharp blades and superior discipline. The strong formations collapsed into a rabble as the dwarves drove forwards, fast spider-like automatons leaping over the Dwemer warriors and cutting through the Imperials with bladed legs and blast of bizarre blue lightning.

Lucius and the remnants of his bodyguard managed to hold fast in the face of the Dwemer advance, but, as he raked the Ebony Blade uselessly across the thick Dwemer shields, Lucius found their weapons and tactics, suited to fighting lightly armoured Thalmor, hopeless against the heavily armoured dwarves.

"Fus Roh Dah!" he bellowed, blasting a gap in the shield wall and sending Dwemer warriors slamming into the baked earth, but, as he and a host of Imperial foot soldiers attempted to rush forward, he heard a distinctive mechanical clanking fill the air, and felt his hope die.

The Dwemer Centurion emerged from a cloud of steam and dust ahead of them, its armoured form marching unstoppably forwards as the Dwemer warriors parted to let it and five identical automatons trudge past, red fletched Imperial arrows slamming weakly into it and bouncing off or sticking into its golden form.

"Form up! Form up!" Lucius shouted, but his orders were lost in the screams of dying men as the Centurions ploughed into the Imperials, sending dozens of men flying with sweeps of their huge axes and hammers.

"Sir, we need to fall back!" Mjoll screeched at him, her face splashed with her comrade's blood, her distinctive blue war paint lost in the crimson.

Lucius ran towards her, watching with horror as the Dwemer warriors cut through any opposition, but was too late as a blood stained brass axe came swinging down, cleaving the brave warrior woman in half and throwing her remains out over the melee of red and gold figures.

In desperation he looked in all directions, but all he saw was death and destruction. To his right General Tullius and a few battered Firstborn heavy cavalry duelled with elegant Dwemer warriors riding giant golden spiders, whilst a group of Orc and Nord soldiers ran screaming from a pack of Dwarven Spheres, many cut down by crossbow bolts as they fled. To his left a formidable looking unit of Dwemer warriors clad in deep blue cloaks and golden female masks charged through a hastily erected shield wall with evil looking brass spears, easily impaling any who dared stand and fight as the men's blood splashed across their golden armour.

Breathing heavily Lucius only just managed to block a strike from a Dwemer wielding a huge greatsword, ramming the tip of the Ebony Blade through the joint between the warriors helmet and neck armour, then staggering briefly the advancing Centurions rushing at them with a well-placed Unrelenting Force shout.

Realising the situation was hopeless, he looked up at the skies, now filled with Dwemer arrows and a few Imperial arrows being fired in retaliation, and, taking a deep breath, screamed to the skies.

"Od Ah Ving!"

For a second there was nothing except the clash of steel on all sides and screams of dying Imperials, but then he saw a dark shape appearing in the skies near the impassive form of Red Mountain, getting closer.

He sensed more Dwemer warriors approaching and turned to face them, finding himself up against at least a dozen heavily armoured soldiers, all armed with shields and swords or axes.

One of them shouted something incomprehensible in his own tongue, seconds before a deafening bestial roar filled the air and a gout of flame blasted down from above, melting the warrior's armour and causing every warrior, Imperial and Dwemer, on the battlefield, to look up with fear as a dark shape hovered above the blood soaked earth.

"Dovhakin!" The towering dragon boomed. "I am here!"

Letting off another blast of fire Odahviing, former right hand of Alduin, now ally of his former greatest foe, flew low overhead, tearing through a rampaging Centurion before landing in front of the Dragonborn, scattering Dwemer warriors with a single movement of his mighty wings.

"You must flee Dovhakin." The dragon said simply, pausing to send another jet of fire towards a brave but foolish group of Dwemer soldiers advancing upon them. "These Dwemer are an ancient and powerful race. Even you cannot stand against their full might. The Dragonborn is too important to the world to let yourself be cut down here!"

Lucius bowed his head, the sounds of battle still sounding out on all sides. He couldn't leave the Legion and his friends to die like this. Especially not Serana. But the dragon before him was insistent, and he knew that the Empire couldn't possibly win this battle.

"Don't worry sir. We'll hold them off!" Agmaer shouted to his left, as he battled against two battered looking Dwarven Spheres.

With a sigh Lucius quickly turned back to Odahviing, knowing there was no time to argue. He shouted over to Hadvar, who was just finishing off a spider automaton with a sword thrust to the body, and the brave captain ran over.

"Hadvar! We need to go!"

He knew he had not time left, but Lucius didn't care. He would at least save one of his friends.

The two men clambered up the armoured sides of Odahviing, gripping to his scaled back as Dwemer arrows sailed towards them, most clattering off the dragon's scaled hide, but a few burying themselves deep in him.

With one last roar of defiance and jet of flame directed at the Dwemer, Odahviing soared high up into the sky and away, until the battle below was little more than a jumble of red and gold shapes, and off into the clear skies beyond.


	3. Chapter 3- Amongst the Clouds

It seemed like Lucius and Hadvar, atop their monstrous mount, had been flying forever, the endless carpet of white and grey clouds below giving no clues as to where they were going. Odahviing had remained silent throughout most of the journey, only snapping off a few hurried questions about the Dwemer, and how they could have appeared so suddenly. And yet Lucius had no idea. He had only recognised the golden warriors because of the many times he had explored their ancient ruins and scavenged their armour and machinery for the High Elf historian Calcelmo in Markarth.

"How did…?" Hadvar began from behind, his voice seeming to just peter out into silence as he attempted to try and put into words the countless questions buzzing around in his head. Lucius couldn't blame him. Hadvar was a good soldier and a loyal friend, but he was still in many ways naïve about some of the darker secrets of the world, mainly due to his deep set claustrophobia and fear of the unknown. At the same time, both of them were clueless about what had happened to their friends and loved ones, and had not yet discussed the possibility of them being lost forever. The pain must have been worse for Hadvar, who had only recently began a relationship with Lucius' sarcastic but loyal housecarl Lydia, when it had seemed like the war against the Thalmor was going well. Lucius knew in his heart that Serana was alive, but even though he had witnessed first-hand how well trained and courageous Lydia was, he still feared for the life of one of his best friends.

"Do you think we're the only ones who got away?" Hadvar said finally, the breeze, surprisingly warm considering how high up they were, blowing straight past, reshuffling the clouds around them like a cosmic shepherd.

Lucius shook his head, a confident smile on his face.

"Not a chance. Tullius is one of the best commanders I know. They've probably started another counterattack and pushed those Dwemer bastards back by now. Trust me, everyone back there will be fine."

Even though Lucius was trying to put a brave face on, when he saw Hadvar frown and shake his head, he knew that his words had failed to have the desired effect.

"Those…Dwemer, they're thousands of years old, Lucius! They were nothing but characters in campfire tales until a few hours ago. Even you couldn't survive against them for long! How can our armies possibly fight something we know so little about? And did you see those machines of theirs? I thought those were all left behind when they disappeared to wherever they've been stuck the past few centuries. How can they just march into existence in front of us?"

For once Lucius was silent, breathing deeply as he listened to the rhythmic movements of Odavhiing's wings around them, felt the deep thump of the dragon's heart underneath where he sat.

They sat like that, the two men, deep in thought, until, with a slight lurch, they felt the dragon beneath them begin to descend.

"What are you doing?" Lucius asked firmly. He didn't begrudge the dragon resting, but he needed to know where they were before he let them just drop from the sky so suddenly.

"I can go…no further." The ancient beast replied simply. My wounds were greater than I first thought."

Lucius' eyes widened as he realised that the arrow wounds, which he and Hadvar had quickly tended to once they were safely away from Red Mountain, were actually still causing the dragon pain. This had never happened before. Even when he had ridden Odahviing into battle against the Thalmor, whose lethal glass arrows were some of the deadliest in existence, he had never known the dragon to admit to being in so much pain.

"Set us down then friend." He said. "We can walk from here."

The dragon dipped his head in thanks before soaring down through the cloud layer and, for a second, Lucius felt the same sense of awe he had on his first flight on dragon back. Below them the harsh grey forms of ancient mountains rose up, verdant green forests and fast flowing rivers of clearest blue jostling for space in a rich natural tapestry of vibrant colour. The two men could just see the grey and brown form of a small town, set in a valley by a clear blue river, ringed by a stout wall, before it was lost from view behind a bank of clouds.

"Skyrim." Hadvar said softly, relief and wonder obvious in his voice.

By now they were close to the ground, and Lucius pointed out a small clearing amidst a carpet of slender pine trees, a herd of deer scattering into the treeline as the mighty dragon landed softly upon the soft grass, dipping his head to allow Hadvar and Lucius to clamber off before looking up into the skies again.

"We must part ways for now, Dovhakin." Odahviing admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "I wish I could aid you more but I doubt I can stand against those ancient warriors once more in this state. I wish you well in your quest and will find you again when I am recovered. Farwell!"

And with that the dragon was gone, soaring up once more into the skies with a roar, leaving the two soldiers alone in the clearing with nothing but the armour on their backs and the weapons at their sides.

Glancing up at the slightly overcast afternoon skies, marked by the gently drifting forms of white clouds, Hadvar turned to Lucius.

"We need to find some kind of settlement soon. We must send a message to the Legion somehow. That, and I doubt we'll get very far with no supplies."

Lucius nodded.

"I believe that town we saw on the way here was Riverwood?"

Hadvar grinned.

"These are the same forests me and my brothers used to play in years ago… I remember my first pet as a boy was a young deer we found up in the hills around here. I miss that old doe…" he added with a nostalgic smile as they set off, the smell of a distant campfire hanging around the trees as the two men walked the rough woodland path, Hadvar leading the way with a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"What are we going to do when we've got our supplies?" he asked after a few minutes of silence except for the sounds of the forest, both of them eager to just have a quiet time to reflect.

"I'm heading to Markarth." Lucius replied. "You can come with me, but it'll be a hard journey. The Forsworn have been getting bolder in the Reach now that the civil wars over."

Hadvar shook his head, his feet crunching on loose stone as they emerged out of the forest and onto the road, the banks of the river to their left alive with small groups of fishermen and hunters with yew longbows. Since the end of the civil war more people now flocked the once empty roads, especially groups of enterprising Dunmer and Imperial huntsmen, eager to make some gold now that the threat of the Stormcloaks was gone.

"I would come with you friend, you know I would, but I have to head to headquarters in Solitude. Legate Adventus will need to know what happened, and he'll need every strong sword arm he can get if these Dwemer are not defeated soon. I need to speak with High King Balgruuf as well on the way. His warriors will be needed soon enough I fear. Why are you headed to Markarth? Surely you need to get back to the Legion as well? We need the Dragonborn alongside us for this battle…

Lucius smiled sadly, his gaze looking up into the skies above for a second, almost expecting Odahviing to come flying back at any minute.

"I can't yet Hadvar. We almost died back there! All our tactics and strategies are useless against an enemy like that." He added bluntly. "I must speak with Calcelmo, you remember him, the Dwemer expert? We need his knowledge and help if we are to fight them on equal terms."

His companion nodded in agreement, but his face was set in a grim frown as the wood and stone gate and walls of the small town of Riverwood loomed up ahead, the yellow banner of Whiterun Hold flying proudly from atop the new watchtower by the riverbank. As they came near, the small group of town guards by the gate, dressed proudly in yellow tunics and polished scaled armour, leapt to attention, quickly putting on their helmets and checking the steel swords at their waists as Lucius and Hadvar approached.

"Dragonborn!" called out the leader, his helmet off to reveal a dark grey beard and a wide smile, bowing slightly as Lucius approached, removing his own helmet and attaching it to his belt.

"What brings you to Riverwood?" asked one of the soldiers. "Not more dragons I hope?" he said with a nervous laugh.

But Lucius' expression was grim and he noticed the soldiers stiffening as they saw the blood patches and scratches across the two men's armour.

"Thalmor?" the leader hissed, his eyes wary.

"Worse." Hadvar said simply. "The Dwemer have returned."

"Dwemer?" the guards all said at the same time, their voices all filled with a slight sense of confusion and apprehension before the leader stepped forward again.

"With respect Dragonborn, the Dwemer are…fairy tales. The only thing we have to fear from them now is one of their mad creations."

"Didn't we all think the dragons a legend until a year ago?" one of the other guards said thoughtfully, and then the leader bowed quickly to Lucius, his previous arrogance replaced by steely determination and loyalty as he realised the truth of their words.

"I am sorry Dragonborn. I meant no disrespect. If the Dwemer have returned… We must be ready!"

"They are still many leagues from Skyrim." Hadvar replied evenly. "But we need to prepare. Remain at your posts for now. Send word to Whiterun immediately of the threat. I will personally speak with the High King and make sure our armies are ready. We need two horses saddled and ready to ride" he ordered.

The guards all nodded and moved aside, all noticeably making sure their weapons were ready as Hadvar led the way into the town. As they walked down the main street, being acknowledged by the villagers as they went, Lucius turned to his companion.

"We need to leave as soon as possible. I will get supplies for myself from Rorikstead. I cannot delay any longer."

Hadvar nodded.

"I need to make sure the town is sufficiently warned. I would walk the road with you myself but there's no time. When you're ready meet me in Solitude."

The two friends embraced quickly before Lucius, checking the two blades at his hip and the Ebony Blade on his back were secure, ran back the way they had come, through the town gate and onto the back of the chestnut horse held by one the guards. Thanking the guard, and with one last glance back into the town, where Hadvar was just going into his uncle's blacksmiths, Lucius spurred the horse down the road, scattering a group of hunters carrying slain deer upon their backs, and onwards to Markarth.

000000

Hundreds of miles away, upon the dusty and blood soaked foothills of Red Mountain, the Dwemer army advanced.

Countless dead Legion soldiers and Thalmor warriors crunched underneath their armoured boots as the golden soldiers went amongst the dead, looking over their primitive weapons and armour with some amusement, whilst searching for clues as to who these new enemies were. Around the battlefield echoed the brief screams of the few surviving Imperial soldiers, their lives coming to a quick end as glittering Dwemer swords were thrust into their hearts. A few unlucky Imperials were left alive, however briefly, to give vital information about the state of the world and local area, before their inevitable execution. The whole battlefield stank of burning flesh from the dozens of crude funeral pyres and the smell of oil and steam from the shimmering automatons of the Dwemer mixed with the sharp stench of blood and death.

But one figure walked with more purposes than the soldiers and automatons picking their way through the dead. A Dwemer woman, clad in an elegant suit of gold armour made up of interlocking bands of metal and chainmail, her long black hair that cascaded down her back to her waist adorned with ornate rings and medallions whilst a shimmering diamond circlet sat atop her forehead. Her face, pale and beautiful, was marked by a single ugly scar across her left cheek, as jagged and red as if it had only just been inflicted. With a host of bodyguards in armour trimmed with purple and red at her back, along with two standard bearers carrying aloft the Dwemer banner, a shining symbol made up of various thin lines of gold around a red sphere on a field of deep blue, she cut an imposing and lethal looking figure.

"My queen!" called out one of her captains, bowing low as she looked over, his fist upon his heart in the traditional Dwemer salute, and she turned slowly, her face set in a frown. "We have found the human leader."

The figure nodded and set off at a brisk walk, keeping a hand upon the slender dagger at her hip, the loose skirt of blue silk and chainmail at her hips moving softly in the breeze. Her entourage at her back, she picked her way through the dead, past the pile of corpses that marked the last stand of the Imperial Firstborn cavalry, to where a group of her warriors clustered around something. As she approached the warriors stepped aside, and she saw a single man still alive, despite his legs being shattered and broken, most likely by the warriors standing over him with blood soaked maces, his armour more ornate than that of his slain comrades, his short hair a shock of grey showing his age, and yet his blue eyes were still defiant as she stood over him.

"Long live the Empire!" he spat defiantly, and she rolled her eyes in disgust, her eyes settling on the golden sword lying by his bloody right arm, a gem in the handle glowing with the power of countless suns.

"The sword of Meridia." She said in a voice, soft and gentle, as she, with a slight trembling in her hands, clad in long midnight blue gloves, took hold of the blade.

"You do not belong on this earth!" the human commander shouted, but the woman ignored the insult, turning to him with the sword drawn, the blade shimmering with unnatural power.

"What is your name, human?" she asked in a detached tone, in much the same way as a man might speak to an ant crawling over his foot.

"General Augustus Tullius." He said simply, his voice filled with a quiet sense of authority, despite his battered and bloody state.

"I am Queen Anihata the First. The Immaculate One. Queen of all the Dwemer, in this world and all others. And I, General Tullius, am this world's destruction." She added, as she stepped forward and drove the Dawnbreaker through the general's noble heart.


End file.
